What Has Been Seen
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Sybill comes to Minerva with a grim prediction. Minerva brushes it off, but she can't deny that it unsettles her.


For the Superstitious Nonsense Competition on TGS.

Beauxbatons, Barbegazi

Number 4- Write about Sybill Trelawney predicting a death and being right.

* * *

Minerva barely even looks up from her work when she hears Sybill burst into her office. "Shut the door behind you, please," she sighs, somewhat annoyed when the Divination professor doesn't follow her request. With a roll of her eyes, Minerva waves her wand, closing it with a touch more aggression than actually necessary.

"Headmistress," Sybill says, and Minerva glances up. Her eyes are wild and her mess of blonde curls are more disheveled than usual.

"Minerva," she corrects, sniffing the air for any telltale hints of sherry on the woman's breath.

Sybill rarely comes out of her classroom, and, when she does, it's usually because she's been drinking and is rambling like a mad woman. She's surprised to find no traces of alcoholic events in the air.

"I was looking into my crystal ball, Minerva," Sybill tells her, throwing herself into the chair across from the headmistress. She takes several deep breaths, wringing her hands together frantically. "It's terrible. Terrible. The things I glimpsed in the ball…"

Minerva resists the urge to roll her eyes. In the years that she's known the other woman, the predictions have always been dark things. An injury that never comes, terrible news predicted for some poor third year that hasn't learned not take Sybill's predictions seriously. It's become quite repetitive by now, and Minerva returns her attention to her work. "Terrible," she echoes, trying to sound sympathetic. She cares dearly for Sybill, but Minerva has a school to run. There are far too many pressing matter that require her attention; she can't put everything on hold whenever her old friend thinks she's had a vision. "And who is going to die this time?"

The silence that follows makes Minerva strangely uncomfortable. Sybill so rarely misses a chance to be dramatic. Silent is really her style.

Minerva sets her quill aside, chancing another look at her old friend. The fear in Sybill's pale eyes is unnerving. The older woman frowns. "Sybill?" she says, her voice softer now. All sarcasm and irritation fade as she reaches across the desk, taking Sybill's hand. "What is it? Say something, dear."

"It's me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Minerva, I have foreseen my own death before this night is over."

Minerva shudders. She's never taken Divination seriously, and she's often dismissed Sybill and her ridiculously grim predictions. Despite this, however, the woman's words do not sit well with Minerva. Predicting a student's death is one thing. For Sybill to predict her own death… The look on her face is enough to make Minerva almost believe. "Perhaps some tea will calm your nerves," she offers.

Sybill shakes her head. Her slender fingers tap anxiously against the mahogany desk. "No, no," she says. "No. I'm not afraid, Minerva."

Minerva raises her brows, lips quirking into a doubtful expression. She's seen quite a few things in her long life, and she knows fear when she sees it. "Sybill-"

"I'm not afraid of dying," Sybill clarifies. "When fate decides it's your time, you can't protest."

Minerva somehow manages to disguise her laugh as a cough. As a Gryffindor, she's never been able to accept defeat. Maybe she doesn't quite believe this prediction, but she doesn't understand how Sybill could be so calm about it. Doesn't she have things she'd still like to accomplish? Minerva would most certainly protest fate's plans for her demise.

"The children, Minerva," Sybill continues, her frantic tapping intensifying. "What about the children? I know you think Divination is a useless subject, but they enjoy it. Even the ones who do so poorly have fun with the class."

For a moment, Minerva almost tells Sybill that most people "enjoy" her class because they think it's easy. However, she knows this isn't the time.

"The children… My children… Promise me that you'll let the class continue when I'm gone," she pleads. "The centaur… I may not like his ways, but let him have my class. Let my children continue to learn, Minerva. Promise me!"

Minerva leans back in her chair, swallowing dryly. The longer Sybill talks, the easier it is to forget her own skepticism and believe.

It's just Sybill being silly, she tells herself, but it does nothing to steady her own rapidly beating heart. She's going to be fine.

"I promise," Minerva assures her.

Those two words somehow seem to ease the other woman's anxiety. Her lips tug into a small smile, and her eyes seem calmer now. "Good. I was worried you would cancel the class the moment I'm gone," she sighs, relief heavy in her voice.

Minerva decides not to comment on this. She climbs to her feet and offers Sybill a hand. "Come. Let's get you to bed."

Sybill takes her hand, hoisting herself up. "I'm at peace, Minerva," she says. "I'll see you on the other side one day."

…

"Professor! Professor!" Linus Yewbeam rushes forward, his face pale and eyes wide.

Minerva pauses. By now, she is used to having her morning rounds of the castle interrupted by various trivial matters. "What is it, Mister Yewbeam?" she asks. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

She isn't prepared for the distress her question causes the fourth year Hufflepuff. He sniffles, biting his lip before looking nervously over his shoulder. "Yes ma'am. Divination," he answers, his voice quivering.

Minerva's body grows cold; her stomach sours. "Professor Trelawney-?"

"She- she-"

He doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence. Minerva hurries past him, moving surprisingly fast for her age. Each step she takes increases the heaviness of the growing dread that hangs over her.

Just a coincidence, she tells herself. She's probably overslept.

But her silent reassurances do nothing to calm her mind as she climbs the stairs that lead into the classroom. The first thing she sees are several fourteen year olds; some seem to pointedly keep their distance while others weep and have to be held back. Minerva follows everyone's gaze, her heart breaking.

Sybill sits at her table as usually, but she's slumped over it, her stiff fingers resting against the crystal ball. Minerva knows she isn't napping.

She steps closer, her heart breaking. "I checked for- checked for a pulse," Danielle Harmon says. "Mum is a- a nurse. She taught... " The Ravenclaw bursts into tears, sobs swallowing the rest of the sentence.

Minerva sits across from her old friend, tears dotting her lashes. She should have believed Sybill. She should have stayed so that the younger woman didn't have to greet Death alone. "I'll see you on the other side one day," she whispers.

"Professor?"

McGonagall straightens. She has to be strong for the children now. "Back to your common rooms," she says gently.

The students mutter amongst themselves, but no one protests. Some hurry for the exit while others linger for a moment longer before filing out.

Minerva sighs. There is much that needs to be done, but, before all of that, she has a promise to keep. She summons her Patronus, equipping it with a message before sending it out to find Firenze.


End file.
